


The Nice and Accurate Tale of Beauty and the Beast

by Blueroses_23, BlueRse



Category: Beauty and the Beast (1991), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: AU, Acceptance, Angel Lover, Angels, Bookshop, Couple, Cuddles, Demons, Fallen, Fluff, Gen, Good Ineffable Omens, HEA, Happily Ever After, In Love Beause, Ineffable Idiots, Ineffable Spouses, Inner Beauty, Monster - Freeform, Monster Lover, Multi, Naga, Not in Spite, Other, Snake Crowley, True Love, alternative universe, castle - Freeform, favoured, garden, ineffable husbands, sfw, snake - Freeform, soul mates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-13
Updated: 2019-12-17
Packaged: 2021-01-30 02:07:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21420424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blueroses_23/pseuds/Blueroses_23, https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueRse/pseuds/BlueRse
Summary: What happens when a moron who loves Beauty and the Beast and Good Omens decides to follow an internet prompt to mash the two together?I don’t know either, I’m not done writing it.  But what is produced is what follows.No real summery because I haven’t finished writing it to give a good summary of it!
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 40
Kudos: 106





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> For this Mash-Up, I am focusing on the Disney Animated “Beauty and the Beast”, not the millions of other adaptations or even Disney’s retcon with the live-action film (while I do enjoy).
> 
> My Doppelgänger is graciously allowing me to bounce ideas off her and giving me good ones too, so I want to credit her for her help (hence her being listed as a Co-Creator).

This is a Tale as Old as Time, that is a tale that began early on in the creation of the world because before that, time was not necessarily needing to be measured. This tale is old though, as old as two completely different people who, under any other circumstances would not fall in love, yet somehow do. That is to say, it is a very old story because opposites have always been attracted to each other. Perhaps it is not true that opposites attract but complementaries attract. It only seems like opposites because one is needing something and the other is giving what is needed. The two fulfill each other. Whether it is opposites that attract or complementaries will be something to ponder at a later time, perhaps after this tale.

Our tale begins, as it will end, with a grand Kingdom. The royal family boasted more numbers than most could ever hope to keep track of and a rift that could probably never be repaired from within. The battle between members of this prestigious family was long and messy; in the end the Matriarch, an Enchantress of great power and skill, banished Her rebelling family members and scattered them far and wide. To add to their punishment, each was cursed with a disfiguring and hideous form to keep them from gaining followers (some being the sort whose charisma and charm caused others to naturally follow) or banding together to bring their forces to the door of the Matriarch and Her remaining family ever again. Due to this, these Fallen dislike each other and will only work together begrudgingly. It is understandably hard to trust someone willing to lurk and backstab members of their own family, as they’ve proven to be willing to do; after all, that was what got their lot in trouble in the first place.

Once the Fallen were scattered, the Matriarch decided that She and those loyal to Her would also take their leave of the land. The still Favoured royal family members and their Matriarch relocated to a castle high amongst the mountains for the best defense, as they believed the Fallen would return someday and another great battle would ensue. They were willing to fight should that day come; truthfully, most of them looked forward to it. After the move, the Matriarch withdrew from Her duties, leaving Her children to manage the affairs of the Kingdom--granted, not often in ways She may have approved of, but She was still content to sit back and let others speak for Her. The betrayal, while it was something She knew would happen, still hurt Her.

This information is, honestly, just backstory and not entirely important for the story to come; that is, the one about two opposite (or perhaps complementary?) beings falling in love. Whatever they are, the story of the Matriarch and Her family only matter because of the repercussions it had upon one member of the Fallen. This was a unique Fallen, one who had not rebelled or committed crimes, had not even hurt anyone--he had just asked questions. How his questions were problematic is unknown. Perhaps the Matriarch was simply having a bad day when this particular Prince asked one too many questions, or perhaps the Prince was just in the wrong place at the wrong time with the wrong people. What _is_ known is that the Prince suffered the same fate as the Fallen: abandoned by the Matriarch and the rest of the family, transformed into a hideous monster, and left outside the great walls behind which many once resided.

Ashamed of his monstrous form, the Prince used his magic to conceal himself inside a castle of his own. Using said magic as his only chance to experience the world outside. The banishment brought upon him a deep and festering anger which the Prince had not known before, and in time that anger turned to pain and hatred for himself. The loneliness ate away at his heart, as he missed the company of another who could offer him conversation… someone who might be able to answer his many burning questions. As the years passed, he fell into despair and lost hope, for who could ever befriend a Beast?


	2. The Beauty Sells Books

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enter the Beauty and his Bookshop. 
> 
> Please leave. 
> 
> Without any books. 
> 
> Thank you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to BlueRoses_23 for editing and listening to all my random thoughts for this AU!

“Oh hello again dear.”

Aziraphale gave the young woman who had just burst into his shop a smile that, for the unobservant, would be welcoming and friendly; the truth was that smile was quite forced and strained. It wasn’t that he did not like her, as she was respectful and kept mostly to herself. It was simply the fact that he had no desire to sell (or loan) his books to a single person on this green Earth. Yet, no matter what he did to deter visitors, she would come back as soon as she finished one book, ready to borrow another. Her tenacity was almost admirable, if only it had not been directed towards the Knight who just wanted his little bookstore to be left alone by others so that he may enjoy his collection of books in peace.

Aziraphale _did_ have to hand it to the girl: she took the utmost care of every book she borrowed and only ever returned one in poor shape. She left that morning, completely happy to borrow a beloved book (for the third time, in fact), only to return moments later with the bottom of her blue dress and white apron covered in mud stains and her big brown eyes drowning in tears. She was so very sorry for what had happened to the book, she said, and that she had tried to clean it with her dress before rushing back to his shop. Seeing her distress, Aziraphale almost wanted to forget his frustration with her. Almost. Sighing softly, he put his upset on hold to get the girl a calming cup of tea and then looked over the damages. It was only after she had composed herself and finished her tea that he found out the truth: it had not been the young woman’s fault at all, but the fault of a boisterous young man who (in Aziraphale’s opinion) caused far too much trouble and got away with too much of it. When she saw that the book had been completely cleaned up and that the shopkeeper wasn’t angry with her, she settled down fully and took her leave with a novel under her arm once more (along with a small blessing of protection on the way home).

He huffed softly, looking over his poor, abused book. Someone really should put that boy in his place. Alas, the trouble he caused was not enough to warrant the Knight stepping in and risk blowing his own cover; the boy, after all, was not the monster he was seeking--though, frankly, he _did_ have quite the monstrous personality, even for a young human male. It had taken a minor miracle to restore that book properly, which would not have been needed if the young man had not purposefully thrown it into the mud when he realized the young woman was giving said book far more attention than his half-baked and vulgar attempts to impress her. There was little to redeem the boy in Aziraphale’s eyes, what with his poor fashion sense (entirely too much flesh showing) and the horrible personality that was only accentuated as he stomped about town and bullied people, especially that one friend who followed about like a whipped puppy. He was certain the young lady felt the same way, which was why she was constantly dodging his advances. Aziraphale had instantly been wary of the young man since he had arrived, but that feeling grew to a strong dislike when the personal harassment and mockery began (usually over his own fashion standards and the fact that he ran a bookstore). Nothing quite like a local land-owner’s son thinking he is better than all those around him and grinding those “below” him beneath his boots to leave a bad taste in one’s mouth. Aziraphale did his best to ignore the young man when he was obliged to leave the shop, but sometimes it was unavoidable when the brute would try to use his large body to block his path and cause trouble. If he had to guess, Aziraphale would also say the young man targeted him because the young woman he fancied started spending so much time in his shop. (A ridiculous notion, honestly, as Aziraphale was just as annoyed by her frequent presence there as he was.)

A day or two later, the young woman appeared in his doorway once again. Tucking away a lock of brown hair that had freed itself from her blue ribbon, she smiled at Aziraphale as he approached from behind the counter.

“Back already?” he asked. It sounded friendly enough, it really did, for Aziraphale was not one to be rude. He was ever the gentleman.

“Oh, yes, Monsieur Fell, I could hardly put it down,” she replied with great excitement. “Do you mind if I borrow another?”

Aziraphale was resigned to his fate of letting her borrow books, despite his own desire to keep them all locked away for his own enjoyment, as the girl did not take any polite form of “no” for an answer and he was not the sort to be impolite for no reason (and often when he did have reason, but that was neither here nor there). It was not that he disliked the girl entirely, as he did admire her love of reading and her impeccable manners when she visited his shop.

“You know my rules, Mademoiselle. Feel free to see what piques your interest.”

(His rules were actually “stop taking my books”, but that would be a funny rule to enforce when you are running a bookshop and expecting it to stay open.)

She was a flighty young lady at times, but at least she was kind company during her blessedly short visits.

“Had you heard about the Baker children?” she remarked as she browsed the shelves. “The youngest fell ill. Coughing something awful for days, the poor dear. The doctor even told her parents they shouldn’t expect her to recover.”

“How dreadful! Are they really so certain of it?”

“That’s just the thing, Monsieur Fell! She’s nearly better now! Madam Baker’s been telling everyone that someone left this strange medicine pouch on their doorstep for the child. She told my father that they were going to lose their child anyway, so they were willing to try anything--and it worked! She says it was a gift from above… which, if you ask me, must be the case because no one saw who delivered it and the doctor is _completely_ baffled.”

“Well, I am truly grateful the child was saved. A blessing indeed.”

Aziraphale gave her a polite smile, but not one with such friendliness to invite more conversation. It seemed like an utterly foolish idea to give a sick child any kind of randomly-appearing medicine, but who was he to question desperate parents? Besides, if he did remark on his own thoughts, then the young woman might stay longer to gossip (and he very much wished for her to leave so he could get back to his reading). Thankfully she didn’t seem to have much more to say, as she was distracted by looking over books; not long after, she had selected a new book and was out the door, her nose already between pages.

Once the shop was quiet again, he spared another thought on who the mysterious medicine benefactor could be, as it was definitely not himself. Perhaps another Favoured was in the area? Although that made little sense, as the powers-that-be were not exactly known for popping in to give a poor family some medicine and then leaving again, and surely if someone like that was visiting the town where Aziraphale was known to be stationed, they would at least stop in to make themselves known. He shrugged to himself and settled behind the counter again, sipping his tea as he returned to his book--only for the bell over the door to jingle cheerily again! (Blast that thing, and blast these customers!) He hardly ever had more than one visitor a day, and most days it was that young woman. Briefly, Aziraphale fretted that another book had met a muddy fate. The Knight stepped from behind the counter, and his mood soured even more when he saw something he wanted to see even less than a customer: his boss. Aziraphale put on his best professional smile and cheeriest voice as he greeted the two men at his door.

“Prince Gabriel, what an honor to see you! And the Knight Sandalphon as well, yes. Always a pleasure to have you.”

It seemed the two Favoured were attempting to blend in, but doing a shoddy job of it. The prince’s crisp fabrics of pristine cool greys were not exactly attire that the average layman would wear in this area. The spotless white and tan outfit of Sandlephon stood out in equal measure; the fabric of one sock alone was worth enough to feed a financially struggling family in this town for a month.

“No, no, not ‘Prince’ or ‘Knight’, Aziraphale. We’re here undercover!” Gabriel announced, flashing a pearly-white smile that didn’t quite reach his amethyst eyes. (Sandlephon’s echoed smile was more a barely concealed snarl.)

Aziraphale quickly nodded and then approached them cautiously. He wasn’t sure why his superiors were visiting him in person like this, but he would be the gracious host no matter what; he does have standards, even for unwelcome guests.

“Is it safe to speak here? Are we alone?” The prince was still smiling as he looked about the shop, but it looked more fake than the gold in Sandalphon’s front teeth.

“Of course, let me just lock up and adjust the sign,” the Knight replied. “So no one accidentally walks in on us.”

He did just that, sliding the lock into place and feeling quite unnerved at having to turn his back on the two of them… which was just silly, he knew. They were Favored, the Good Guys. It shouldn’t be worrisome to have the good guys behind you, right? Yet, just having them both in the same town (much less right there in his personal space) made Aziraphale very nervous indeed. He flipped the door sign to “Closed” and turned back to his guests.

“Now. How can I help you, gentlemen?”

His voice was even, calm, keeping the nervousness he felt well hidden.

“We’re just stopping in to see how things are going with the Fallen monster lurking about. Any news?”

Gabriel’s eyes seemed to flash with something that Aziraphale could not name, which tapped him further along the edge of unease.

“I’m afraid not,” he said, with regret. “Not even a shriek in the night. I’ve searched practically everywhere for its lair. Nothing in the usual places like cemeteries, bogs, or ditches… I even looked into one of the supposedly haunted homes at the edge of town. All I found there was some rats. Well, actually a lot of rats. None of them Fallen either, just normal rats.”

Ah--he was babbling. He shut himself up.

“That is most troubling news, Aziraphale!” the prince exclaimed, looking disappointed. “You need to find this Fallen and find out what it’s been doing. I mean, we all know it’s up to no good--it’s a Fallen!”

Gabriel laughed at his own joke, if one could call it a joke. Which, it really wasn’t.

Aziraphale gave a mild fake chuckle so as to not upset Gabriel. Sandalphon managed a sneer.

“I assure you, I will find this Fallen and thwart its evil wiles. The good news is that I’ve settled in peacefully and no one here suspects a thing. They all think I’m just a scholarly old bookseller.”

“Now, that _is_ great news! You can sneak right up on that Fallen!” Gabriel gave his hands a soft clap before rubbing them together, looking pleased. “He won’t suspect a thing!”

“Exactly.”

He had to remind himself to remain cordial. Keep smiling. Act friendly. Just some good old boys discussing murder. No trouble at all. They’d leave him alone soon enough, and Aziraphale could return to what he wanted to do, instead of what he ought to be doing. Frankly, if the Fallen he was sent to “remove” was not causing any trouble, then he did not feel the need to bother with it at all. But his superiors didn’t need to know that.

“Well, we’ll just get going so you can get back to work finding that Fallen! The sooner it’s found, the sooner you can come on home,” the Prince told him, like he assumed Aziraphale was as sick of being here as he was. “And don’t you worry, we’ll continue to check in on you from time to time! Make sure everything is going according to plan, that kind of thing.”

“That is most gracious of you, sir.”

The last thing Aziraphale wanted was them popping in too often and finding out that he was not, in fact, doing his job as correctly as they thought he was. It was not like he was _completely_ ignoring his duties: he watched over the town and made sure everyone in it was safe (reasonably). There were plenty of times when a hungry family would find a basket of food on their doorstep, left there by an unknown benefactor. Others would find a few extra coins in the dirt on the same day the rent was due that would be just enough to cover the amount they lacked. The homeless always seemed to have a soft blanket and a hot drink to keep them warm at night. All of these little ‘coincidences’ were just a few kindnesses he had done for the townsfolk since his arrival, small but positive changes that surely made a difference for the better. Finding a Fallen who had not made itself known and was not causing any trouble to speak of was not his top priority. The Prince and his Knight moved to leave, and Aziraphale remembered something he should ask them.

“Oh! Am I to assume that you were the ones to deliver that special medicine to a sick child a few days ago? The parents are saying it was a blessing and are most thankful.”

Gabriel’s face took on an exaggerated frown as he thought for a moment.

“Nope, wasn’t us. Not our department.” He looked to Sandalphon, who nodded in confirmation. “We just arrived this morning and have no interest in… local affairs. That’s your area.”

That was a surprise, and yet not.

“Yes, I... I suppose it is. Must’ve been another kind-hearted fellow who beat me to it,” Aziraphale replied, with what he hoped was a convincing smile.

“It seems your positive influence is leaving its mark on others. Keep up the good work! I’m so pleased you’re able to vigorously hunt for that Fallen and still make time for good deeds.”

Gabriel was beaming at Aziraphale as he and his Knight headed out, and Aziraphale wanted to feel pride in that praise but something behind that smile and the tone of those words made Aziraphale want to jump right out of his skin. He waited until the door slammed shut and the shop was empty again to let out a long, slow breath of relief.

There was a reason why Aziraphale accepted positions that took him away from the elevated castle that Her people preferred, a reason why he loved posing as a bookkeeper instead of playing his role as a Favoured Knight: those fake smiles and pleasant voices were never as friendly or happy as they seemed. There was always... _something_ hidden just beneath them that gave Aziraphale pause. He was a Favoured, but not truly belong amongst their numbers and he knew that. In his bones, he hated the cold edge in those looks, the disdain, the disgust, the warning. _Stay where you are. Know your place_.

There was no reason to threaten him. He was here, and he was doing his job--he was just doing it at his own pace and enjoying what he could along the way. The city had more warmth in strangers then he had ever found in the pristine pillars of the palace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we have a guest appearance of Belle, and mentions of Gaston. They are not actual characters in this story because Aziraphale is Belle, Crowley is the Beast, and our antagonist is NOT Gaston. It was just a nod towards the original, if you figured this out while reading you get a virtual cookie! 
> 
> No promises on who else from Good Omens or Beauty and the Beast will be showing up in further chapters. Since I haven't written them.


	3. What a Weird Snake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Beauty meets the Beast
> 
> Everything is NOT tickity-boo!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much Thanks to BlueRoses_23. She makes things PLUS ULTRA; I know, wrong fandom. But it is appropriate.

Prince Gabriel and Knight Sandalphon had been gone for several hours. Night had fallen, and the city was sound asleep, except for the night owls and the obligatory batch of ne'er-do-wells lurking about, looking for things to do that were ne’er. Aziraphale was also awake, of course, but he was not looking to cause trouble - the opposite, in fact. He’d just finished his usual nightly rounds and was about to head back to his bookshop for a late-night cuppa when, out of the corner of his eye, he saw some movement dodge behind a nearby building. Quick to react, Aziraphale turned and was sure he saw someone disappear around the corner. It was probably nothing, but he still wanted to check, just to be sure it had not been a figment of his imagination. If it was, he could just continue on his way home. If it was not, well, it would be best to know who or what was moving about at this late hour.

He peered cautiously around the corner, and his gaze landed upon the long, slender form of a black snake as it slithered up the single back step of the abode. It held a single envelope in its mouth, which it left on that step, the tip of its tail nudging a rock on top of it as a paperweight. Now, snakes in the city were not an unusual sight, but a snake _ delivering an envelope _ really was. So when the snake wiggled off into the shadows, Aziraphale followed it straightaway. Tracking it was not an easy task, as the snake was no more than a yard long and as black as the shadows it hid in. If not for the few scattered lights flickering off its golden eyes or glistening scales, he would have most certainly lost the creature well before they made it out of town. 

As it was, he did lose the creature at the end of the city, where the lights faded away and everything outside their shine was swallowed up in the darkness of the forest. It had been hard up until this point, given that it was such a petite creature, but now it was downright impossible. Well, only one thing to do about it now. Aziraphale glanced about quickly to ensure no one was nearby and then lifted his hand. 

“Let there be light,” he whispered with a brisk, downward snap of his fingers. 

A second later, a small orb of pink light appeared several yards ahead of him, hovering over the dense grasses like a beacon. _ There _it was. The Knight moved as swiftly as he could while not being obnoxiously loud… or, well, he tried his best. Sneaking was not one of Aziraphale’s best skills, and the glowing tracking-light floating over the fleeing snake was not exactly subtle. 

A normal snake would likely not spare a thought for that pink orb beyond “oh a light!”, but this was obviously not a normal snake. It knew for certain that it was being followed now, and by a skilled magic-user, no less. There were_ some _ remnants of human Witches that had survived the dreadful stake-burning trials, of course, but they were uncommon and very secretive. So it was safe to assume that the person tailing him was either another Fallen or worse: a Favoured. Not wanting to deal with either, the snake did its best to lose the one on his tail, slinking and slithering this way and that, ducking under fallen trees and through dense brambles that should surely slow down his pursuer and give him time to escape. Sadly, it became clear after a few moments that the one following him wasn’t the type to give up easily. Well, wasn’t that just a pain? The snake was running out of options and getting close to his own home now. He’d rather not have a Favoured know where he lived, but at least at home he could even the playing field. Hissing in irritation, the creature continued onward.

Deep within the woods, far enough away that the lights of town looked like the sparkling of fallen stars when one looked down from the tall, ivy-covered walls, was the abandoned castle that this snake had taken to be his home. (How Aziraphale did not know it was there before would have to be figured out later.) At the base of the wall, just before the crack that the snake used to get in and out, it whirled around to face his opponent. What Aziraphale saw when he finally burst through the tangled line of trees was a towering serpentine beast several times larger than any human man, with glowing yellow eyes that chilled the bones. The lower body was still snakelike, black and red scales catching in the pink light, but the upper half was… was man-shaped?! He encouraged his pink light to raise for him to see the creature more clearly. Yes, his eyes were working correctly: the snake aspect ended in a smooth transition of scales to skin at the slender hips of a very human-looking male form. From its back came an enormous spread of jet-black feathered wings, and from its fingers sprouted long, black claws that could shred through skin like paper. The upper and lower canines of that human-like face were extended beyond what any human could reasonably house in their mouth, and they looked painfully sharp. The Knight’s eyes snapped instantly to those teeth, those claws, and that long tail that coiled and whipped the ground. Fangs, claws, wings, tail, possibly even venom. This monster certainly had a number of natural weapons to use, and Aziraphale did not even have his sword. The Knight swallowed nervously. 

_ Well then _ , he thought, _ I do believe I’ve found that Fallen Beast _.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A shorter chapter but it seemed like a good spot to stop... and leave you on a mini cliffhanger, but we finally meet (sort of) Crowley! The next chapter will be longer, have more sass, and have plenty of gay panic.
> 
> Can we all give a round of applause for Aziraphale's "pink GPS", as BlueRoses_23 is calling it, because of course, he is THAT extra ^_~.


	4. The Stand-Off Between Two Ineffable Idiots

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley is a scary Naga. Really. He is. Be scared. Please.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to @BlueRoses_23 for all your help with this story.

Seeing such an intimidating creature gave Aziraphale reason to pause--a lot of reasons to pause, actually. Could he really take on something like that? Surely. Probably. Maybe? He did not really want to find out. The Knight took several steps back, not liking the odds of winning against something so large and equipped with so many sharp, stabby bits. Yet, this  _ was _ the job he was sent here for: to remove the Fallen. Thwart the evil wiles of this beast. See an evil wile, thwart it. That was in his job description. Rather, that  _ was _ his job description. Even so, Aziraphale felt a deep reservation, which was not him being afraid of the beast (he most certainly  _ was _ … not), but something else he did not quite understand.

Perhaps it would be wiser to keep his cool and study his enemy for a moment, instead of rushing in. The eyes of the Fallen glowed bright yellow in the dark, accenting his otherworldly nature, and it hissed again furiously and beat his thick tail on the ground. Overall, it was quite a good display, but aside from the noises and the tail tip lashing back and forth, nothing had happened. No lunges, no spitting poison, no magic spells thrown his way. His face was twisted, fangs out, but there was no true menace behind it, now that Aziraphale was studying him. And they had been facing off for several minutes, the beast had yet to move closer, or even take a swipe at him with that tail. Should not the Fallen have attacked by now, if it was planning to do so? Was it possible that the creature was just… scared? 

The Fallen, for his part, was beginning to feel panic creeping up his spine. This pesky Favoured Knight hadn’t given up on following him, despite his efforts to escape, and was also refusing to run off even though he’d shifted into this larger, more intimidating form. It had always worked before, but now both Plan A and Plan B were falling flat and he was just hissing like an idiot as he loomed over this plump man. He didn’t want to get hurt, and admittedly, he didn’t want to hurt anyone in turn. But he couldn’t let his guard down--the man before him certainly didn’t  _ look  _ dangerous, but he knew better. Favoured Knights, especially, were meant to be skilled fighters, and no one should think of them as anything less than serious and dangerous. Especially a Fallen. 

Gradually, Crowley (for that was the Fallen’s name) lowered his arms and shut his mouth, his eyes remaining trained on the Favoured before him. 

“What are you doing here? You sssshouldn’t be here!” he rumbled from the depths of his chest.

Although he was certain his attempts to be scary weren’t working, Crowley would still  _ try _ because, despite his current exterior, he was not a fighter. The black claws were more useful for skinning rabbits, and the elongated fangs affected his speech, making the words somewhat garbled. He’d be surprised if the other understood him at all just now.

To his astonishment and dismay, the Favoured  _ still  _ refused to bugger off and put his hands on his hips, giving Crowley a stern look that clearly said he was not threatened by the display and was done with the attitude.

“Well, are you...are you  _ quite  _ finished with all this, this hissing and other nonsense?”

Crowley felt like he should be offended, but… it was like being scolded by a marshmallow. 

He narrowed his eyes slightly at the Favoured, feeling the panic intensify. The harsh warning had been a gamble, but this cheeky little man didn’t waver at all and just  _ stood there _ with his hands on his hips and a disapproving scowl on his face! Not good. Granted, the Knight hadn’t pulled out a weapon or started using magic, but just because an attack had yet to come didn’t mean it would stay that way. But, in all honesty, the Fallen had  _ absolutely NO idea _ where to go from here. Shouldn’t the fight have started? Or he being dead already?! Why was this Favoured fixing him with a look like he was just a troublesome child who got caught sneaking a hand into the cookie jar? What was he supposed to do now? When in doubt…keep trying to be scary? Crowley had no clue what else to try.

“Excuse me?” 

Deciding the extended fangs were too much trouble for talking, he retracted them as he lowered himself closer to the Favoured’s eye level to glare right back at him (and to see him better). There was a tense air about the other’s body, despite his posture saying he was calm and collected; oddly, Crowley was thankful he wasn’t the only nervous party here. 

Crowley was most certainly reminded of a marshmallow (which would not be introduced to France for another… hundred years or so) with his soft, fluffy white-blonde curls and rounded face. Even the slight up-turn to his nose was, admittedly, cute. Crowley had to stop himself from reaching out and booping that nose. The man before him was indeed built chubby, the roundness of his belly still visible despite the layers of clothing. He could not recall a time when he saw a Favoured who looked so… soft. It was a very pleasing look. 

Mentally he kicked himself (because mentally he could still use his now non-existent feet) to remind himself that this was the enemy and to remain on guard. Even if he wanted to lightly poke that belly like he wanted to boop his nose.

“Are you finished hissing and being grumbly?” The voice was far more gentle this time, somewhat jovial. The nervousness that had been there a moment before was almost gone. His posture had indeed softened, but there were the hints of unease to his smile. Crowley could only conclude the intimidation was not working.

...Crowley was certainly screwed!

“Why did you come here? Come to stare at the Beast?!” That snarl was back in his voice. Crowley may have been panicking. (He most certainly was panicking). Okay, Plan A of intimidation did not work. Therefore the time for Plan B, or was this Plan C? Whatever it was there was only one other defence mechanism Crowley had… act like a cranky bastard. Good thing Crowley was good at being cranky and being a flashy bastard.

Aziraphale raised his brow as he shifted his weight to one foot so as to cock his hip out, “I take that as we are  _ not  _ done being cranky. I would prefer if we just skipped that part.”

“You are a Favoured and a Knight, are you not?” Crowley hissed, “and you followed me here.”

“Yes, well, it’s not every day I see a snake delivering mail.”

“Mail?” Crowley took on a mocking tone, “ _ Mail _ ? I do  _ not _ deliver mail!”

“Then what were you doing in town?”

“Why do you care?” Crowley crossed his slender arms over his bare chest. He was no longer glaring but looking over the Favoured before him. He was not a bad looking Favoured, they tend to be decently fit and muscled. Most he had seen were lean, and it felt like they were always at parade rest for the military. Their posture, even when “relaxed” suggested they were dangerous and could react in seconds to fight. It was stressful just looking at them. This man was rather open and… soft. What other words were there? He did not feel threatened, he did not feel there was an alternative motive, a hidden attack coming at any moment. The Fallen liked the look of that softness…

Crowley tilted his head some as he continued to look. Studying the person before him closely.

Aziraphale’s blue eyes followed the movement of the arms. He took the time to let his gaze travel down the narrow waist and back up to a barely defined chest. “I care when someone is causing trouble, which is the job of a Fallen.”

“And it’s the job of a Favoured to stop a Fallen,” that mocking tone continued. Looking back into those blue eyes.

“Well, yes. Except, since I have arrived you have not caused any trouble.”

“I have caused plenty of trouble! I cause plenty of trouble. All I do is trouble.” Crowley was drawing a blank on all the bad things he had done recently. (Probably because his bad deeds were hardly bad at all. Mischievous, yes, but not even “naughty” much less “bad” and far from being able to be classified as “evil”).

Aziraphale raised that brow again as he fixed the Fallen with a doubtful look. “I have been here for several months now and have not heard a single word of you.”

“That is because unlike Favoured, Fallen know how to sneak,” Crowley jabbed the insult at the other. Quick! Mock him to distract! Maybe he will leave.

Aziraphale crossed his arms, mirroring the beast before him, “are you going to tell me what you were doing in town?”

Crowley’s curiosity got the better of him, it always did (it is how he ended up in the situation he was in), “Where is your weapon? Favoured all love flashing about their weapons to Fallen.” While he was enjoying looking over the Favoured, he had been looking for a weapon (and not just admiring him).   


That caused the Favoured to get nervous and start fidgeting with the hem of his sleeve, “Um.. well… I had not been expecting…that is to say, I had not thought I would run into a Fallen… and…” Aziraphale’s voice had notes of a whine in it.

“You forgot to bring your weapon,” Crowley smiled a little, a real smile. Amazed that a Favoured would do something like forget their weapon! Especially when they were going to face a Fallen.

“You can hardly blame me! You haven’t caused trouble at all! How was I supposed to know I would run into you! And… if you were not causing problems… well…” Aziraphale could not exactly explain to the enemy that he was not going to fight him unless it was for the greater good. Just because he was a Fallen did not mean he needed to just be punished for existing, right? 

“I was trying to run AWAY from you,” Crowley snapped. “You could have just left me be.”

“Not until you tell me what you were doing in town!” 

“No. Go away,” the large naga began raising up again, trying to look intimidating once more. When in doubt, try what failed before and see if it will work this time. “Leave now or I will be forced to… forced to… ngk…” Just because the Favoured was being nice now doesn’t mean he will continue to be nice. Crowley was barely keeping his tail from tying in knots from his nervousness.

“Forced to what?” It was Aziraphale’s turn to sass, done being mocked. “Why were you in town?”

“I have my reasons…”

“That is  _ not  _ an answer. Now tell me why you were in town before I...I thwart you.”

“ _ Thwart? Thwart… _ That’s it! You know what, you’re now my prisoner!” 

“What? That is not how taking prisoners work!”

“Itssss how I do it,” this was the first time Crowley had taken a prisoner, so he wasn’t lying, it is how he was going to do it, at least this time. “And if I am doing it wrong, then it is on-brand. Because Fallen can only do wrong!” Crowley had enough size to snatch up the Favoured with his hands easily, if he wanted too (it is not like he wanted to touch the Favoured and was forcing himself not to), instead, he used his tail, this left his hands free should he need them for a fight. He also did not want to risk hurting the Knight with his clawed fingers. Crowley didn’t bother to see how his new prisoner was doing he turned to the great wall that surrounded his home and began climbing. If he looked now, he might second-guess, well whatever it is when you second-guess for the thousandth time in under two seconds. Snakes are amazing climbers, even without hands, so a snake with hands was even better at climbing.

Crowley was careful to keep his guest (eh-hem) prisoner safe. He was sure his hold was firm but not so tight as to harm him, and he made sure that the end of his tail never accidentally hit the wall. He was doing his best not to shake the man around too much, not an easy task when scaling a wall. It was easier to get in and out as a small snake, there was a hole near the base of the wall big enough for him to get through. Said hole was not big enough for a grown man to squeeze through, much less a fairly large Naga.

Aziraphale had started to wiggle as soon as he was snatched, right around the arms and chest, meaning he did not have use of his arms. The wiggling had confirmed he could not move much to fight against the strength of the tail. He could barely twitch his fingers, the beast was not hurting him, but it certainly had a good hold. When they started going up, Aziraphale felt that fighting to escape would not be in his best interest. He glared up at the climbing man, fully intending to give him an earful for this treatment but as he looked up his gaze and attention was caught on the long lustrous locks of his captor. Fire-red auburn hair in loose curls, far looser than his own poof, danced with every movement that the Fallen made. It was a beautiful mess of shiny hair down past the Naga’s waist. Very lovely to look at.

He really should be fighting or yelling, Aziraphale knew that is what he  _ should _ be doing. But Aziraphale was never good at doing what he should (should according to his higher-ups. Which is not the same as the “_should do_” when one has their own sense of self and morals. They are two very different “shoulds”). When he finally realized he had lost himself to watching the Fallen, they were at the top of the wall. Snapping out of his daze, “what are you doing...um…” he gave a confused and hopeful look to his captor.

“Crowley,” the Fallen supplied, “I’m taking you to my home. As I said, you are my prisoner.”

“Crowley, right. I am hardly your prisoner. You cannot just snatch up someone and claim they are a prisoner!” Aziraphale had expected a climb down. Instead, Crowley leapt from the top of the wall to glide down on those black wings of his. Apparently they were not just for show, they indeed functioned perfectly well. Aziraphale would have preferred a little warning! Especially given he was at the beginning of a scolding.

Once on the ground inside the wall, Aziraphale was released onto the soft grass outside a grand castle, leaving him on his rear. “Follow me,” Crowley hissed, so it seems he was not done being grumpy.

Aziraphale glared at Crowley’s back, “I am still a Favoured and a Knight, I could get my freedom easily.”

“Then why haven’t you?” Crowley looked back, cocking a brow over those sharp, and curiosity filled eyes. The glow from them was gone but remained that golden-yellow shade, only the light from Aziraphale’s pink glowing orb spared them from the dark. Yet in this low illumination, Aziraphale could tell that Crowley had slitted pupils like a serpent. His features were striking, all sharp and angles... and beautiful. 

Why had Aziraphale not tried to leave? What made him stay? What was causing him to not fight the Fallen? 

While Aziraphale attempted to figure out why he stayed, Crowley was busy internally panicking while keeping a calm exterior (he hoped it looked calm).  _ Why in Hel...Heav...WHY did he kidnap this man?! _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Crowley panicked...and took a prisoner. That's how it works right? It doesn't? ...Does now.
> 
> Aziraphale is panicking some too. So...they are now in an awkward situation of their own making


	5. It Is Forbidden!  Yes, Really.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You are a prisoner.
> 
> And don't go to the West Wing.
> 
> This isn't funny, I am serious.

“Follow me,” Crowley tried again. Aziraphale watched Crowley walk...uh...slither… towards the castle beyond the wall they just came over. He had not expected the wall, much less there being a full castle beyond it. How had he not found it sooner? How had he not sensed it? He may have been derelict in his duties but not to such a degree that he would have missed this. Aziraphale had yet to get back to his feet, and Crowley had not offered him a hand, despite depositing him so unceremoniously on the ground. Rather rude of him if you asked Aziraphale. “Why should I do anything you say? You just kidnapped me.”

“Not kidnapped, captured. Besides, you followed me this far, when you _ weren’t _my prisoner,” Crowley countered as he slithered back towards the Knight, extending one of the black taloned hands to help him up. Aziraphale stared at the hand that could easily wrap around his whole head. The palm was a normal looking enough, a human-looking palm, spreading out into five long and slender digits. From below the elbow began a gradient where the pale skin blended in the black snake scale similar to the Naga's lower half. The black scales flowed down to the tips of each finger before ending in those claws. Each claw an obsidian blade, one alone being longer than one of Aziraphale’s hands.

He was hesitant to put his fastidious hand in range of those claws, it did not look like it would take much to slice him open. He looked past the hand towards the face of Crowley. While the Fallen had a hint of annoyance in his eyes, or perhaps fear, there was no malice. Plenty of curiosity and interest and that interest seemed to be aimed towards the Favoured. He did not see a reason to fear Crowley (besides the obvious of him being a cursed Fallen that was forsaken by the Matriarch), therefore, Aziraphale closed the distance and put his hand in the palm of the larger male. With the utmost care, he was helped to his feet by Crowley. Not even the faintest of scratches were received from the dangerous-looking helping hand. Well, he was not ready to follow just yet. Aziraphale kept his eyes on Crowley as the Fallen made a circle around him, leaving distance between their bodies despite the circling motion leaving that long Naga tail around him. Aziraphale adjusted his clothing; making sure his coat, vest, sash, shirt, and trousers were all situated just so. Dusting off any dust or dirt that may have happened due to the “rough ride” over the wall. Even going so far to adjust the collar of his shirt twice, as he fixed Crowley with a look that said he was not amused. The long serpentine lower half was still imprisoning him when he finished, but for an odd reason, Aziraphale was not worried about it. He was caged in, but he had a feeling he only needed to ask and the “cage” would let him out. How far that release was, he did not know yet. He was not sure if Crowley was really going to keep him prisoner or if this was all an act.

“Now, will you follow me to your room?” Crowley had likewise not taken his eyes off the Knight. Watching his fidgeting fingers dance across his body to make adjustments to his clothing. Inspecting every inch that he could. Despite wearing pauper’s clothing the fabric was just slightly too nice and just a little too clean. Too ironed, not a fold out of place. Crowley doubted most would notice such subtleties, humans didn’t pay attention to such things unless it was far more flashy. The Fallen had spent a long time watching humans, he was well aware of how they moved and dressed. 

“Room? I thought I was a prisoner,” the sassing contest was on-going, Aziraphale was not sure if he really minded that they were being so straight forward with their banter. These were not the carefully cultivated words that sounded pleasant enough but were just there to hide the sharp truth that stabbed at one’s sense of self. The meaning of the words were not hidden, the biting nature clear when needed but the bites were closer to soft nips that tickled over harming. 

“Would you rather your stay be in the dungeon? I can arrange it,” it might have been a threat but honestly, Crowley could not remember if the castle had a dungeon. He never needed one and had no desire to go poking about dungeons. He supposed there should be dungeons, it was a castle, but it was not a human castle and before the time of the Fallen, there wasn’t exactly a need to go locking each other up. Now he would have to go and see if there was a dungeon, might be a good place for supplies; if dry and not dank. Human dungeons are supposed to always be dank, right? It had been some time since he heard about human dungeons; what story was that again? Didn’t it have something to do with an enchanted rose? Or was that the one where the girl ate an apple and died?

“Not particularly, no. Thank you for not locking me in one.”

“Do you think it's appropriate to thank me?” Crowley began to slither towards the huge doors of the castle once more. This time Aziraphale followed, his pink light guiding his way, it was too dark to see much beyond the small magicked light. That simply would do, with another snap expanded the pink light so he could see more as they walked… moving towards the dark castle entrance. With the light he could see more of the perfectly manicured landscaped. Large lush plants, that were certainly out of season, were all healthy and green as they speckled the lawn. Not a wilted leaf in sight. It was much too late in the Autumn season for flowers and some of the plants that were growing out here, they should be dormant. 

Crowley looked back as the light brightened but quickly looked away to hide the blush of embarrassment. Of course, the Knight would need more light, it is not like he had eyes like Crowley’s that could see in the dark. Once he threw open the front doors, Crowley drew his hand up as he snapped causing lights flickering to life across the whole castle. The sconces giving more light then what the other’s magic was producing.

“I think it is always appropriate to thank someone when it needs to be done. And thank you for the light,” This time it was Aziraphale’s turn to snap downwards, snuffing out his little orb. Intertwining his fingers below his stomach as they entered the marble floors of the foyer. His eyes snapped to the symbols created in the floor by solid gold inlays. The subtle details in the architecture, the architecture itself, the designs in pillars and tiles… how perfectly clean everything was. How pristine. Aziraphale recognized it all, but it still took him a moment to place it because it was… different. Unrecognizable in its recognition. 

“This is… this was the old palace. Where it all started…” Aziraphale stopped in the middle of the grand room. The ceilings soaring high overhead, giving Crowley plenty of space to stand at his increased size. Aziraphale assumed that is what Crowley counted as standing for a snake-man.

“Yes, well… they moved on.” Crowley left the words “I didn’t” unsaid. 

“They? Which they?”

“All of the “they”. There is no one here and hasn’t been for a long time.”

“Except you.” 

Apparently Aziraphale saw to say what Crowley didn’t feel needed too. “Finders keepers,” Crowley gave a devilish smile, proving that being left behind hadn’t hurt. It hadn’t. 

Aziraphale gave him an unimpressed look in return. “This was made before they decided “less is more”,” Aziraphale walked towards one of the columns to touch, “And before it was decided that everything needed to be white...”

...cold.

...unfeeling.

Stark.

Crowley just nodded and continued down the hall towards the East. “I suppose, then again, it was made before the need to distinguish between good and evil with blacks and whites. Fallen and Favoured.”

Aziraphale admired the work as they moved down the hall. There was very little around; a piece of art here and there. No unnecessary furniture cluttered nooks, there were no tables to display vases. Even the statues were limited, he could see a few in passing that he would have to go back and look at later, but there was so little. Everything was also spotless. Aziraphale figured he could run one of Michael’s white gloves across the floor and it would not have a smudge of dirt on it. He had not known Fallen to be so clean, on the opposite actually, they tended to look (and smell) as if they had just dragged themselves up from the depths of some bog somewhere.

“Here, this is your room. Feel free to explore if you want. Go wherever you want, except the West Wing.”

“Well, that is an odd stipulation for a prisoner “go about where you want except this one spot”, should I not be more confined?”

“Um.. uh…ngk..” Crowley was all tongue-tied and stumbling over his words for an answer. “Yeah, well, I am a Fallen. Can only do things wrong, so, I’m keeping prisoners wrong.” 

Aziraphale smiled, a genuine smile, because the silliness of it all was, dare he think, sweet. “Am I really a prisoner then?”

Crowley stumbled over some more nonsensical sounds before nodding, “Yeah. Definitely. You won’t be able to leave the wall. No easy exits.”

“Mmm,” Aziraphale made a non-committal sound as he looked around the room. A little stark, similar to the rest of the castle in that there was little decorating done but it was clean and comfortable looking. It was certainly the space for a welcomed guest, certainly not where one should keep a prisoner. “This is lovely, thank you.”

“You really do enjoy thanking your captors, don’t you?”

“This is the first time I have been captured, I would think that normally the answer is no. Yet, here we are in a unique arrangement of sorts, therefore, I think it calls for unique protocols of manners.”

“Yesss. Have a good night,” Crowley began to slither back the way they came.

“What is in the West Wing?” The words came rushing out of Aziraphale, he wanted to keep the conversation going. It was nice to talk to someone. He was surprised by just how much he wanted to continue talking to Crowley. 

“What?” Crowley looked back at him.

Aziraphale was struck by the beauty that was this pose; red curls tumbling over freckled shoulders. Wings tucked tightly against his long back. Golden eyes slightly too big, no hostility but confusion. A small frown forming on his lips. Crowley must have been a beautiful Favoured once, because he was a beautiful Fallen now. 

“Oh… yes… why...why is the West Wing… I mean to ask, why am I not allowed in the West Wing?” He watched Crowley’s eyes go even bigger before the Naga looked away from him.

Crowley did not have an answer for that. Not a good one. “Um… yes… well. You aren’t allowed there.”

“Yes, you said that. I want to know why.”

“Because, um…because,” Crowley wasn’t going to tell the truth as to why the other was not allowed in the West Wing. “It’s forbidden.”

“Forbidden?” Aziraphale’s doubt was almost palpable. “But why is it forbidden?”

Crowley made some noises, “It just is.” He silently begged the other to drop the topic.

“How can something “just” be forbidden? There has to be a reason for it,” Aziraphale smirked some, the banter was so refreshing. The stumbling and unease he was putting the Naga through were also enjoyable in how innocent in made the other look.

Crowley avoided looking back at Aziraphale as he spoke, “You are a Favoured, you should be used to things “just” being something without explanation. It is what is expected of you.”

That took Aziraphale a moment, he did not sense any venom in Crowley’s voice but it was a biting remark that stung. “Have a good night Crowley,” Aziraphale shut the door behind him. The remark hurt more than it should, coming from a stranger.

Crowley watched the door for several long moments before slithering off. He realized he hadn’t wanted the conversation to end so soon either, just for the topic to change. It was nice talking to someone for the first time in...forever. It really had not been forever but it had been a very long time since he spoke to anyone besides his plants. It certainly had been a long time since someone spoke back to him. It was...nice.

The Naga went through the halls of the West Wing, and out to the greenhouse that was connected. It was one of the few places in this world he felt comfortable in. The clear panels of glass let him see the stars high above on nights like this one while he cared for his plants. If one could call what Crowley did to the plants, care. It is better defined as psychological torture, putting the fear of Crowley into them ensuring that they “behaved”. Everything was just as lush and beautiful as the grounds between castle and wall, but in here it was warmer, more temperamental plants survived with a lot less yelling and threatening. It was also a place where a snake could sun himself during the day. A heavy sigh was the only sign of his poor mood, but his plants already knew what was in store when he was in such a mood. 

The greenhouse once held many thousands of species of flower, now there was mostly one species but thousands of variants. Roses of every color, pattern, and size grew around the greenhouse. He enjoyed the color, the inherent warmth of that color, the sense of life in a castle full of emptiness. Not a single petal littered the floor, nor were any brown or wilting at the edges. All perfect and lovely in bloom. He checked here and there, completely lost in his thoughts as he tended the blooms. The roses knew well enough to not even get a thorn out of place that Crowley might accidentally slither into.

“NGK! How can I be so stupid?! I didn’t even get his name!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am sorry this chapter took longer to get out, I blame Thanksgiving and all the other holiday "fun" going on. 
> 
> I would like any opinions as this is a new writing style for me (I am trying to mimic and blend the narration styles of Good Omens and Disney's Beauty and the Beast). I also have spaces in writing so sometimes I forget what I wrote and repeat. Some repetition I think is important for the style I am going for but I do not want it to become overly annoying and redundant. 
> 
> I also never intended this to be as long as it is already, I thought it would be a short and cute prompt but my brain has decided "NAH!" and plotted things out to a certain degree. This also means trying to figure out the right blend between Good Omens and Beauty and the Beast, how to progress things in the slow, steady, and (mostly) stable way of Good Omens or the wham, bam, thank you ma'am way of Beauty and the Beast (seriously, what is the timeline?! Look dandelions...now it's snowing. We fell in love and will most certainly live happily ever after when we just met a week ago. -I love Beauty and the Beast but it is not above criticism-). If you ask me, Good Omens is the more healthy and beautiful love story.


	6. The Beauty Does What He Wants

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale goes exploring and discovers something he was not expecting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did not intend for this story to focus so much on Aziraphale's contrarian nature. But it is. I'm not sorry, if I can't get him to behave you have to read it too.
> 
> No really, I had a different plan for this chapter and the discovery would come later but Aziraphale went "I DO WHAT I WANT" (Mentally I see that gif of Loki hanging out the car window with his arms raised but instead its Aziraphale).

He felt bad. He should feel bad. No, he should not. Crowley was a Fallen who took him prisoner. Yet he had not harmed him or anyone else for that matter, so he could not be that bad, could he? Aziraphale felt he should feel bad if someone who has not earned ire receives it. It is not like he had not been on the receiving end of underserved ire. But Crowley’s words were biting, they hurt to hear, so he should be mad for being insulted. Not to mention the kidnapping, or imprisonment, whatever this was. Therefore, he  _ should definitely not  _ feel bad for dismissing Crowley so easily and shutting the door in his face. No, he  _ should definitely be mad _ and not worried he hurt Crowley’s feelings. 

With a deep breath in, Aziraphale checked how he looked in the mirror, straightening his clothing. Smoothing down invisible wrinkles, most certainly to look his best (one must be aware of their appearances at all times) not to stall. He most certainly was not stalling, nor was he making sure he looked his best for Crowley. He was not nervous, he had no reason to be nervous to speak with Crowley, after all, it was Crowley in the wrong. Aziraphale had decided to forgive him, therefore, there is nothing he should worry about. Crowley certainly would not reject his company. No, he was not worried about that at all. Besides, even if Crowley did send him away it was not like that mattered anyway. What Crowley felt about him did not matter; they hardly knew each other. They were not friends or anything...more. They were enemies. Opposites within a cosmic battle of Good versus Evil. The fact that Crowley intrigued him, and despite being his “prisoner” (although Aziraphale really did question whether or not he was a prisoner) he did not feel anxiety about Crowley or being in his presence. There were a great many things that Aziraphale worried about; selling his books, dealing with other Favoured, doing the right thing when the right thing was not always clear, interactions with the Fallen, watching over the humans and making the decision of when to interact, intercept, or even stand by, watching what happens instead of acting. The worst was the standing-by and watching as terrible things happened to others, while he was not one for dealing with people, he did not want to see them suffer. Humans are wonderful, thoughtful, creative, interesting, and simply amazing. Sometimes he hated that he was able to be in the middle of it all yet still be completely separate. 

Certainly, he influenced them to do the right thing, a gentle nudge in the right direction, which meant he rarely was directly involved in anything he watched over (a good deed here and there, almost daily, hardly counted as interfering with their actions)… that did not mean he did not wish at times to take a more active role (beyond the small amount of help he could do). On the other hand, he also did not mind letting people do whatever they planned to do because it meant he was left alone and necessity was the mother of invention. Humans blossomed under difficulty and strife. Just...sometimes it seemed like too much strife and hardship happened and what came out of it was not worth the price paid.

He could not put it off any further. Well, Aziraphale could. Aziraphale should escape, leave this all and pretend he never saw Crowley lurking about town. Go on as if nothing had changed for him, it would be even easier because so long as no one made a fuss, he could pretend he had not found the Fallen at all. Meeting Crowley, and supposing he continued to behave, it would mean Aziraphale’s biggest threat would be customers trying to buy his books. He would have more time to read. It was so tempting. Just bugger off back to his shop, the Favoured highly doubted the Fallen could or would stop him. That would be a very reasonable and sensible thing he should do.

Aziraphale knew the truthful “should” was he  _ should _ vanquish, defeat, end… (whatever he was meant to do with a Fallen) Crowley. He could see his reflection go slightly pale, the idea of killing anyone was not one he liked. In theory, Aziraphale could defeat and vanquish a Fallen, ensuring their evil would not spread further. In theory, that is what he was made for. What, to his core, he was meant to do. Well, it was the core of the Favoured, perhaps it was not what Aziraphale was made for, whether that be in his core or his exterior. “Removing” Crowley was certainly what Aziraphale should do and be proud of doing. 

The thought made him sick instead.

He rather the “should-do” that did not involve killing anyone, the one of pretending none of this happened. The should that left Crowley alive and they pretend to never notice the other again. Two outsiders pretending to not know or interfere with the other while watching over those on the inside and doing their job without much conflict. It was not like he actually knew Crowley anyway, they just met. They hardly had a few words exchanged! That was the most reasonable “should” Aziraphale could think of.

To bad for Aziraphale that is not how he works. As previously mentioned, Aziraphale was not good at doing what he  _ should _ do but wonderful at doing what he wanted to do.

And what Aziraphale wanted to do was what he was going to do; go speak with Crowley. 

With a nod to himself, Aziraphale threw open the door of his guest room to confidently stride out, heading in the direction Crowley had been facing earlier. At the main hall, Aziraphale faltered; he did not know where he was going. This was a grand castle that once housed all the Favoured before any became Fallen. That did not mean Aziraphale knew his way around.

As he did not know where to go anyway, Aziraphale decided that the best option was to go where he was “forbidden” to go. (That is the best way to ensure someone does or goes somewhere you do not want them to; tell them you do not want them to.) If he did not find Crowley, he could figure out what he was hiding and whether or not that would change his opinion of the Fallen. Aziraphale wanted to believe his first impression of Crowley, someone who was nice, but his existence had taught him that a smiling face did not necessitate a kind heart. If Crowley was hiding something, he wanted to know now. He had a duty to do for the people he was sent to watch over and to his own self. Best not be caught with one’s breeches down. 

Hope for the best, but expect the worst. Always, always hope for the best. Never be shocked or unprepared for the worst.

Unlike the rest of the castle, the West Wing was left in complete darkness save for the light of the moon that might slip in through the tall windows. The moonlight was not enough to see details in the dark corridor, Aziraphale decided to use another glowing orb that appeared over his head with a snap. He assumed this was Crowley’s attempt at a “stay away”, leaving it too dark to venture. Aziraphale would hardly be deterred by darkness. The long halls of the West Wing were much the same as those he just came from; bland, sparsely decorated. Nothing to suggest personality, nothing to tell him about the person who lived in these walls, alone. Nothing to really speak of those who lived here before either. It was eerily quiet, especially compared to the hustle and bustle of the city. Even being an outsider, the sounds of life were far more comforting than the cold silence where the other Favoured called “Home” and more preferable to the silence of this castle.

Closed doors.

Empty rooms.

Echoing halls.

Aziraphale tugged at the sleeves of his jacket as he walked, blue eyes taking in as much as he could. How could anyone exist here and be happy? 

Isolated. 

Alone.

Disconnected.

His attention was caught by the contents of the room he just opened, it jarred him for a moment because of the juxtaposition between room after room of nothingness and this room so full. Rows and rows of tables with all manners of jars, vials, and other instruments that looked to belong to an apothecary rather than within a random room of a (mostly) deserted castle. He could not begin to guess what any of it was because there was not a label in sight. The walls of the room were lined with rows and rows of small drawers. His curiosity tempted him too far, Aziraphale opened one drawer to find a stiff green bundle of sprigs kept together with twine. The Favoured gingerly lifted the dried vegetation to examine it closer, he knew that scent...rosemary? He returned the herbs before opening another drawer, instantly he could smell the sweet fragrance of dried rose petals. These drawers were storage for herbs?

Aziraphale turned back to one of the work tables, wanting more information. He grabbed a jar at random, probably not the most intelligent move considering he had no clue what was in any of them. Could be poison, he was in the home of a Fallen, poison was what he was likely to find. Lifting the lid he could only see a thick amber liquid within. A sniff told him this was honey, but it was mixed with something, something minty. There were other herbal notes but he could not place them. He stared at the jar in his hand before looking around the room. It looked like an apothecary because it was one. 

But, why would Crowley, a Fallen, have a stocked and working apothecary? He returned the jar before continuing his investigation. This place was certainly in use, not a speck of dust to be seen (although the rest of the castle was in pristine condition as well, so that could hardly be a judge on how much the room was used) but even the herbs he found hanging from the ceiling in a dark corner were fresh, not yet dried; newly added. 

His tour of the room ended before a table covered in parchment, ink, and quills the only space within the whole room (the whole castle so far) that was a mess. Crumpled papers scattered the tabletop, an inkwell that was beyond dried-up because someone forgot to replace the cap, and most of the quills had broken nibs. Aziraphale was careful as he worked the discarded papers open to see a large and messy scrawl accompanied by blotches of ink. The shakiness of the lettering suggested the person was trying very hard to make their writing legible but it seems they saw their failure and tossed out the attempt. Many of the pages he looked at were the same words over and over, trying to list out instructions but failing over and over to make all the words clear. He picked up a carefully folded envelope, looking it over before putting it back to examine a wax seal of a wiggling snake, he had seen that symbol before… but where? 

Aziraphale went looking for answers but found more questions because if he did not know better he would guess that Crowley’s letter earlier that night held medicine. But why would a Fallen cure people? 

Stalking from the room, he was going to have a word with Crowley and get answers. 

What was this game he was playing at?

Now just to find him. 

“Oh! How foolish of me!” Aziraphale snapped and his little pink tracking orb was back. He had the golden light gently floating about his head so as to see while he walked, and now this smaller pink one that danced in front of him leading his way. He was led to the end of the West Wing, the light floated right through a door made of stained glass and wrought iron. He could barely make out the shapes of plants beyond the beveled glass, a greenhouse? Had this always been here? Deft fingers traced the black iron of a tree trunk as he looked at the rest of the design, its branches and roots coming together in a knotwork along the sides of the door. The light above his head glittered off the bright green that made the leaves of the decorative tree but it was the red glass apples that really stood out in the pale luminescence. 

With his hand on the door, it was the first time Aziraphale felt nervous about being in the West Wing. This was the first time his earlier worries came back to haunt him. He had made it this far, he had more questions than answers, and it was time for those answers. A final nod to himself for reassurance, an adjustment to his vest (that did not need it) and he pushed the doors open.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How This Chapter Came To Be:  
Me: Okay then, Aziraphale you are going to go straight to the greenhouse.  
Aziraphale: Explore the West Wing? Okay!  
Me: No, no, go to the greenhouse... it is in the West Wing, yes but I need you to go straight there.  
Aziraphale; oh, I need a light for this exploring  
Me: N...nn..no. You can find your way to the greenhouse just fine.  
Aziraphale: Ooo what is in here?  
Me: Damnit -_-
> 
> \-------------
> 
> I admit I was inspired by [ Vey_Kun](https://www.instagram.com/vey_kun/)'s comic "Black Death Omens" for Crowley to be a secret healer. What postponed me from starting writing this story was that I just didn't know how to get Crowley or Aziraphale to cross each other's paths and the thought that our "evil" Crowley going out of his way to help people was perfect.


	7. The Beast is a Beauty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fluff happens.

There is little for a Fallen to do when they are not getting into trouble; they are only really meant for trouble-making. Not to worry though, most Fallen love making and getting into trouble, they love it even more when they get other people involved in their troublesome trouble. 

All Fallen, but one. 

Crowley didn’t mind the idea of trouble or even making smaller amounts of it, nothing that would really hurt someone unless that person was inclined towards harm already. Crowley also was not a fan of going into town during some peak trouble-making hours (when the shops are busy or at night when there was less people out but more nefarious sorts of trouble are lurking around). 

This meant that Crowley had a lot of time on his hands. He dedicated his extra time towards the gardens in and around his castle. As he did not have anyone else to speak to most days, Crowley would talk to the plants. Though, perhaps “talk” was too gentle of a term for what Crowley did. He put the fear of Crowley into the plants, making them the most lush, colorful, and vibrant plants in all of France. His roses were extraordinarily terrified, which is why they always minded their thorns and never curled a petal. The colors of the roses were beyond anything anyone would find outside of the greenhouse and the scent of those roses could be considered intoxicating to the human nose.

But it was not the roses that Aziraphale saw first. It wasn’t their sweet fragrance that he took note of right away. It was not even the perfect display of colors and verdant leaves that gave Aziraphale reason to pause just inside the door. The roses were the furthest thing from his mind as he gave his full, undivided attention, to the mass on the floor amongst the flowers.

Crowley was asleep, his serpentine lower body coiled in a loose circle while his upper body draped lazily over a portion of his lower half. Aziraphale watched as slow and even breaths moved the large Naga’s chest in a pattern that marked Crowley as asleep before Aziraphale’s eyes flicked to the thick lashes resting against a speckled cheek. Being careful to not make a sound, he approached taking in every detail that he could of the Naga before him.

Aziraphale admired the long mess of red curls that spilled over pale and slender shoulders. A smile playing at the curve of his lips as he noticed the freckles that blemished those shoulders. 

He studied the way that sleep softened Crowley’s angular face, took away harsh lines of unease and distrust. It made what was striking, tender instead. From closed off to relaxed. From beast to beauty.

Aziraphale noted the lack of wings, meaning that Crowley could easily “put them away”, as it were, if he wished. The Favoured’s smile made a small appearance as he thought of the earlier display with them out was all for intimidation and show. With lazy strides he walked his way slowly around the Fallen, admiring the sheen of obsidian scales in his magic light. Crowley’s hair had tumbled in a way that Azirphale could see how the black snake scales continued up his back, tapering as it ascended his spin. He wondered if the scales of his tail were as smooth as a snake’s? 

Was his hair as soft as it looked?

The Favoured should, strictly speaking, strive for asceticism, a life of rigorous routines and self-denial. And while Aziraphale could pretend that he was like that, the truth is, he is a hedonist. Indulging in earthly pleasures never gets in Aziraphale’s way of doing what he thinks is best and being a helping hand as much as he can, yet it means he was far from able to avoid temptation. He collected books, pretending that he sold them was his cover story to the higher ranks that helped cover his love of “material objects”. The utter joy and delight he gained from reading, how utterly enchanting the written word was.

Pretending to be human meant that Aziraphale had a reason to enjoy food, sip all manner of drinks, relax in beautifully crafted clothing. He loved it all. Which should be enough to tell anyone that Aziraphale was not very good at resisting temptations. Especially small ones, that meant no one was harmed over. 

Aziraphale’s hand raised before he was fully aware of it. He hesitated, withdrawing his hand back and shaking his head a fraction. As if needing a leash on the wayward right hand, Aziraphale held his fingers with the left; thumb and pointer playing with the gold signet ring on Aziraphale’s right pinky finger. He looked Crowley over again, once more noting he was indeed asleep before he allowed his hand to reach up and graze the fire locks.

The corners of Aziraphale’s eyes crinkled as his brows raised, yes, the hair was as soft as it looked, if a bit messy. His smile was no longer hiding as he gently touched the Fallen’s curls. Tenderly he brushed back the hair to get a better look at all of Crowley’s sleeping face. His fingers were light as they tucked some of the long strands behind a pointed ear, his fingers lingering over the snake tattoo that rested before Crowley’s right ear. 

~*~*~*~

Crowley came awake to the soft strokes of someone brushing his hair. The temptation to allow this to continue as long as possible was too great. Keeping his eyes closed, Crowley relished in the tender sensation. It had been so long since someone touched him so gently, so long in fact he couldn’t pinpoint when the last time such a thing had happened. He was certain he never had his hair brushed for him since he became a Fallen, living in isolation. Crowley questioned whether someone had ever brushed his hair even before his curse. Favoured were not the touchy-feely type. 

He decided that he didn’t want to think about the past or how lonely he had been, instead he would focus on the soothing hands playing in his hair. There was no tugging or harsh scrapes against his scalp, even when the Favoured came across a tangle in his hair, it was worked out with the utmost care. He was at ease in that moment, Crowley should have been panicked, at the very least worried; he was in a vulnerable position with his supposed enemy extremely close at hand. He should get mad because the Favoured clearly did not follow orders to stay out of the West Wing.

Crowley couldn’t bring himself to be anything but in relaxed bliss.

When the brushing stopped, he almost let out an audible whimper because it was over far too soon. The brush was replaced by deft hands that was working the hair. Crowley could feel that something was happening but had no clue as to what the Favoured was doing. “What are you up to…” It was in that moment Crowley remembered he did not actually know the other man’s name. A few strangled sounds later, after Crowley was done tripping over his tongue, he tried again, “What are you up to Angel?” 

Aziraphale was surprised by the nickname, _ Angel _, what a strange thing to call him. Humans created the mythology of Angels and Demons to explain the strange things that happen when Fallen and Favoured are about. Who is to say that Favoured were not Angels but by another name. Still, it was an odd thing to call him just because of the human stories. “I am braiding your hair Dear.”

_ Dear?! _ Crowley had not expected an endearment in return. “Yes, well… uh...ngk…” Crowley was worse than tongue-tied as his brain short-circuited and left him without any response at all.

Aziraphale was enjoying how Crowley’s pointed ears turned as red as his hair when he blushed. Who knew something he called everyone would have such an impact on Crowley? “When was the last time you tended to your hair? It was in such a state.”

“I think a couple of days, I had a long nap before my “mail delivery”. I didn’t think I needed to brush my hair before I left.”

“Ah yes, the matter of you delivering, what I am hoping is medicine. Although that Baker child got sick so suddenly she may have gotten ill due to poison.” Suddenly the hands that were styling his hair stopped. They were barely touching him but Crowley could feel the stiffness. “You are not at fault for people getting sick are you?” Aziraphale was horrified that he had just now thought of such a thing.

“Of course not! I have nothing to do with anyone getting sick. And I don’t hurt kids, my kind might do that sort of thing but that isn’t something I would do.” Crowley glanced as best he could over his shoulder to where Aziraphale was standing. 

“Oh… you can hardly blame me for being suspicious you are a Fallen. A working apothecary that belongs to a Fallen would produce poisons, not medicines. That is why I wanted to ask you.”

“And you would believe me if I told you I didn’t poison random people?”

“Well, no? I supposed I should not.”

“You don’t sound so sure.”

“I have no reason to believe or trust you.”

Crowley decided he didn’t want to hear how much of a beast he was because of the curse. “And why have you been poking about the West Wing, when I expressly told you not to.” 

“You must realize the best way to get someone to do something you do not want them to do, is to tell them not to do it. Besides, I wanted to know what you were up to and hiding. Whether or not there was a cause for concern.”

“Of course there is cause for concern. It’s not like I am a nice person.”

“Mmhmm… do you mind terribly if I pluck a few roses?”

“You’ll do what you want anyway, so why ask?”

“You can hardly blame me for being curious,” Crowley felt the loss of heat from the Favoured’s body as he stepped away and towards some of the roses. “We have just met and did not speak much…”

“You wanted to stop talking,” Crowley interrupted. He received a raised brow and stern look for that one.

“Yes, well, we hardly spoke. It is my job to know what you are doing and to stop you. I see no reason to stop you from healing sick children, as I now know that is what you are doing.” Aziraphale walked back once he selected several beautiful white roses that would accent Crowley’s hair and eyes.

Crowley stiffened ever so slightly when the other was back, his fingers working with his hair once more, weaving the flowers through the tamed mane. 

“Besides, I found myself rather bored. There is not much for me to do besides explore. Were I not your “prisoner”, I would happily be out of your hair and back at my bookshop.”

Crowley made an undignified sound, “We both know you are no prisoner Angel. So there must be another reason you are staying.”

“Curiosity. About you, you do not act like other Fallen I have come across or heard about. Ah, there we are. All done, and such a lovely sight.” Aziraphale beamed as he looked over his work. “I have been rather rude, as I have not properly introduced myself yet. I am Aziraphale.”

Crowley took several long moments for his brain to process everything Aziraphale had said in those short few sentences. “Yes..well.. Uh… You own a bookstore?”

“Yes, it is my disguise as I investigate the Fallen activity in this area.”

“You need a disguise?”

“If I wish to blend in with the humans, I should act like one.”

“People don’t notice things Angel. They happily go about their lives without ever noticing odd things happening. I suppose this means you like books?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Flower-crown Naga Crowley; the only important thing to happen in this chapter. Alright thats not true... Aziraphale playing with Crowley's hair is pretty important. We also are introduced to pet-names.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to SweatHands over on Tumblr for the prompt. I have no clue if you will see and read this but... as someone whose favorite Disney growing up was Beauty and the Beast, it was hard to not agree with your idea! Just figuring out the... details has been a little mind boggling.
> 
> For this story I am trying to mix the narration style of Beauty and the Beast with the narration style of Good Omens. I am not sure how well I am doing, especially as I have only seen the Good Omens mini-series. I do own and plan to read the book but I haven’t yet.
> 
> Uh... I think that’s it’s. Imma be in my pillow fort working on more chapters, yeah, this will be chaptered because apparently it can’t just be a short story. So if you need me, I’ll be there.


End file.
